


Makeout/Makeup

by orphan_account



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M, Makeup, Recreational Drug Use, Trans Brendon, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Ryan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 03:16:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8311951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Jon tells Ryan about Spencer's new coworker, Brendon, and after his shift at Hot Topic Ryan invites Brendon to their smoke session later on that night. The two quickly learn much more about each other than either expected.





	

**Author's Note:**

> dedicated 2 my friend shannon
> 
> may many more ryden fics come to be 
> 
> unbeta'd, and altogether unedited. im just having fun making trash. *josh dun voice* im just a boy. just a little boy.

The mall was busier than usual as the holiday season slowly encroached; even Hot Topic, which normally warded off the general public, had its influx of bemused parents asking about gift cards for their teenage children. Ryan wouldn’t sacrifice his employee discount on the newest pop punk albums for anything, least of all the suburban mothers who tisked at his generous use of eyeliner, but his patience ran thin as the day wore on.

Seeing as his manager, Pete, had been arguing on the logistics of liquid liner versus pencil liner with a customer for about an hour, Ryan felt safe in checking his phone behind the cash register. His friend, Jon, who worked at the pretzel kiosk separating Hot Topic and Smoothie King, announced he was on break and waiting outside. Ryan occupied himself in folding/unfolding/refolding the same sets of band tshirts until the clock struck 1 PM and he was able to shout “I’ll be back in 30!” to Pete.

Outside, the Nevada sun fell through the clouds in thin blades of light, juxtaposing arctic decorations unfitting of the Vegas climate. Jon leaned against the mall’s outer wall behind a dumpster; Ryan joined him and sat on a short set of concrete steps.

“Hey,” he said, and took the pretzel and soda proffered by Jon. “Thanks.”

Jon shrugged. “God knows I’ve had enough of those things for the next ten years.”

Ryan balanced the pretzel on his knee and pressed the cold soft drink against his tender, recently-pierced lip.

Jon frowned. “When did you do that?”

“Last night,” Ryan said.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Why do you only wear open-toed shoes?”

Jon glanced down at his characteristic pair of off-brand slides, black socks dusted with salt and flour underneath. “Fair point.”

Ryan lowered the soda and carefully ate a bit of pretzel. Jon pulled a out a small joint from his pocket. When he got to the end of his stash every few weeks he rolled them and smoked with Ryan on their break, and Ryan gave him a few bucks in thanks. It was a nice system.

After passing the joint back and forth a few times, Jon said, “Have you seen the new guy working at Smoothie King?”

“No. Should I’ve?”

“I dunno. I thought he might drop by your store. He’s all goth.”

“Emo,” Ryan corrected.

“Whatever.” Jon handed him the rest of the joint. “Finish this off for me, okay? I’m trying to smoke less.”

Ryan snorted. “Never thought I’d hear that.” He inhaled the last of the joint, then dropped it into his empty cup of soda to throw away.

At the end of his shift, Ryan passed Jon to enter the Smoothie King, where Spencer sported a bright orange polo as manager. Smoothies clashed with Ryan’s aesthetic—presently he was a glaring form of black and red in the fruity shop—so he only ever ordered muffins.

Spencer had nabbed one as soon as he saw Ryan leaving Hot Topic. Ryan leaned against the counter after paying and peeled away the paper sleeve. Farther behind the counter was a boy with jet black hair cranking the smoothie machine.

“That’s Brendon,” Spencer said, gaze inquisitively lingering on Ryan. Ryan scowled at him, and he turned. “Hey, Brendon,” he called, “come here.”

Brendon walked over, smiling brightly. His eyes were ringed with smudged eyeliner, and he wore a studded bracelet on his left wrist. “What’s up?” he asked, deceivingly chipper and personable.

“This is Ryan,” Spencer informed, “he works at Hot Topic. You’ll see him around here a lot, eating muffins.”

“Fuck off,” Ryan said. “What happened to the other girl?”

“Emily? She got fired for coming in high again.”

“Huh.” Ryan eyed Brendon. He didn’t seem the type to smoke pot, with his cheerful grin. “Well, hi.”

“I bet it’s so cool working there,” Brendon gushed.

“I don’t know. Sometimes. My manager is a dick, though.”

“Yeah? Mine too.”

Ryan blinked, caught off-guard, and then erupted into laughter.

Spencer rolled his eyes. “Screw you.”

“Anyway,” Ryan said, “Jon and I are smoking tonight, if you want to come.” He looked at Brendon. “You, too.”

Brandon blanched. “Uh...”

“As in marijuana,” Spencer explained.

“I’m not above peer pressuring you,” Ryan said.

“Don’t listen to him,” Spencer told Brendon. “I don’t smoke either, I just chaperone.”

“Yeah, like a fucking pussy,” Ryan added.

Brendon smiled. “Sure, I’ll come.”

Ryan wrapped the rest of his muffin in a napkin and pocketed it in his jacket. “Cool.”

“Cool,” Brendon echoed.

Spencer turned at an approaching family. “Okay, bye, Ryan.”

Ryan scoffed. “Later.” He walked to Jon, who had been watching from his pretzel perch.

“Sup?” Jon asked.

“He’s kind of lame,” Ryan observed, “but he might be cool. He’s smoking with us tonight.”

“You just invited him?” Jon frowned. “Why?”

“Why not?”

“Huh.” Jon grinned. “Fair point.”

/

Back home, Ryan’s father sat in his sunken recliner with a beer in one hand and the TV remote in the other, still donning his work uniform. Ryan stood in front of the television, haloed in light, and said, “I’m going out tonight.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t know when I’ll get back.”

“Just don’t wake me up when you do.”

Ryan set his jaw.

“Move out of the way,” his father ordered.

He slammed his door shut upon entering his room and laid on his bed. An unopened textbook sat beside him. Instead of reading, Ryan listened to My Chemical Romance on his iPod, resolutely staring at the wall. Once the album finished he played it again, then fell into a bleary, restless sleep. When he woke up it was eight-thirty and he had four texts from Jon and Spencer asking if he still wanted to hang out. He threw on a crumpled hoodie from the floor.

His father snored in the recliner, a new moat of beer cans erected at his feet. Ryan exited the house and drove off.

Jon’s eyes widened after opening his front door. “What happened?”

Ryan guessed his makeup had smeared. “I fell asleep,” he said.

“Are you okay?”

“Why are we talking and not smoking?”

“Jeeze, man, alright.” Jon lead the way to his basement, where Spencer presently rolled a blunt at the coffee table and Brendon watched in awe, sitting opposite on the floor.

“I thought you didn’t smoke,” Brendon said.

“Not anymore,” Spencer said. “I used to.”

“Until you went and ‘prioritized,’ whatever that means,” Jon said, and flopped beside Spencer on the couch.

Neither Spencer nor Brendon were in their uniforms. Spencer had an Aeropostle shirt with the sleeves rolled up nicely, and Brendon wore a faded Fall Out Boy tee over a long-sleeved striped undershirt.

“Hey, Ryan,” Brendon said, head cocked upward. His overgrown hair fell from his face, a few errant curls escaping otherwise straightened locks. Ryan nodded wordlessly. Brendon looked away, sheepish.

Jon narrowed his eyes and prodded Ryan’s leg with an outstretched sandal. “Sit down.”

He didn’t feel like squeezing in with Jon and Spencer, so Ryan sat on the floor a foot away from Brendon.

“What’s wrong with you?” Spencer asked. He licked the loose edge of the blunt, tucked it downward, and ran a lighter over the seam.

“That’s what I wondered,” Jon said.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Ryan deadpanned.

“Give him the first hit,” Jon suggested.

Spencer passed the blunt and lighter.

Ryan sighed, but accepted graciously. He felt uncomfortable under Spencer and Jon’s amused/mildly concerned gazes, and didn’t smoke until they began discussing what movie to watch and which takeout to order. After exhaling, Brendon’s face appeared across from Ryan. The boy’s wide, curious eyes and full, parted lips set Ryan on edge in an entirely different manner. He took another hit, deep and slow, before passing onto Spencer, who handed it to Jon.

Jon set up a movie Ryan didn’t know. As he and Spencer eased into conversation, Ryan picked at loose carpet threads, and Brendon watched Jon smoke. When the blunt was passed to Brendon, Ryan looked up through his bangs.

“Roll your lips together,” Jon instructed. “Just—kinda—then breathe in.”

“Um, okay,” Brendon said. His entire face screwed up as he attempted to inhale. He coughed immediately, wasting a huge cloud of smoke.

“Blunts are hard, especially for your first time,” Spencer said diplomatically.

“Here,” Ryan offered. He took the blunt from Brendon and shuffled forward on his knees. “Tilt your head back, open your mouth, suck in.” He took a small hit, cupped Brendon’s jaw, and shotgunned him, their noses touching. When he leaned back Brendon was blinking hurriedly, face pink. “Did you get it?” Ryan asked.

“I think.”

Jon whistled.

Ryan took a hit for himself, deeper still. The swisher paper glowed bright orange as it disintegrated and turned to ash. “Fuck off,” he said to Jon.

After Ryan shotgunned Brendon again, the three senior stoners advised waiting a bit, leaving Jon and Ryan to finish the blunt between the two of them. Meanwhile, Spencer ordered pizza. By the time food arrived Brendon was trying to parse through his first high, Jon was sprawled across the couch, and Ryan kept watching Brendon dazedly turn his head back and forth, or stare at his hands in his lap.

“Food’s here,” Spencer announced unnecessarily. He set the two pizza boxes on the coffee table.

Brendon straightened and rifled in his jean pockets, eventually procuring a black and white checkerboard wallet.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Spencer.

“But...”

“I’ll make you clean or something Monday.”

Jon, who already had two slices of pizza in hand, offered, “Or you can suck his dick.”

Brendon glanced down, nervously turning his wallet in his hands. Ryan glared at Jon. “C’mon, man, lay off. He’s only a kid.”

Jon paused—and began laughing wildly.

Brendon frowned at Ryan. “You know, I’m only, like, a year younger than you.”

Ryan shrugged. “Couldn’t pass it up.”

“I bet you couldn’t,” Spencer said.

“Is Jon asleep?” Brendon asked, unknowingly diverting Spencer’s attention away from Ryan.

“He does that.” Spencer gently removed a rind of crust from Jon’s lax hand.

Brendon craned his neck to get a better look; Jon’s head lolled against the arm of the couch. “But it was so fast.”

Spencer snorted. “Yeah, he’s a real pro.”  
  
The evening dragged on in the same fashion, B-list movies playing one after another until Spencer crashed opposite of Jon, their feet inches from each other’s faces; Brendon fell asleep soon after. Without the salve of lighthearted discussion, Ryan grew restless. Legs pulled up to his chest, he tapped his fingers on his knees, trying to block the noise of Brendon’s parted-lip breathing as the television/VCR flared flat electric blue across the basement.

His clothes rustled loudly as he stood to walk to the bathroom, where he knew Jon’s mother kept unused makeup; they’d gotten into it the previous summer, buzzed on Monster Energy in a round of truth or dare. Now, Ryan took the small box from under the sink out of his own volition.

Three of the four lightbulbs above the medicine cabinet were out, leaving the tiny space dark and sickly. Outside the basement window it was silent and black, and the tile was frigid underground, even beneath socked feet.

Ryan gently shut the bathroom door and placed the makeup case on the closed toilet seat.

He sorted through the different compartments until finding a dollar store red eye palette and tube of liquid eyeliner. Generously smearing his fingertips in red gave him an unnameable sense of satisfaction, the sight similar to dried blood. He dragged the makeup across his face, thin fingers digging into the bone of his eye socket. With every layer his crimson mask darkened and his identity and anxiety dissolved under its guise.

As he finished painting gnarled branches from his lower lashes with the eyeliner, there were soft, silent footsteps, followed by a jarring knock on the door.

“Ryan?”

Ryan jerked away from the mirror. He quickly capped the liner and packed away the makeup.

“Um, are you okay?”

“Yeah—” He froze at his reflection, unable to rub it away after just finishing. It’d only turn into a smeared mess, regardless.

He opened the door.

“Oh.”

Brendon grinned shyly.

“You look nice.”

Ryan’s eyebrows rose. “What?”

Brendon looked down. “I mean—I don’t know, sorry—”

“You don’t think it’s weird?”

He looked up quizzically. “Of course not.”

Ryan swallowed. “Good. I mean... Thanks. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Brendon bit his lip. “I have to pee.”

“Oh, shit.” Ryan scuttled out of the way. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re fine. Could—could you do me next? It looks really good. Pretty? Jesus,” Brendon muttered.

Ryan laughed softly. “Yeah.”

Brendon ducked into the bathroom and came out with the makeup case. Ryan was waiting for him, wearing Jon’s sandals and holding a small glass smoking bowl and orange pill bottle full of weed.

“We’re going to the backyard.”

Brendon followed him upstairs, to the kitchen. “Can you see out there?” he whispered.

“Not really.” Ryan flicked the back light on and sat in the grass.

“Okay. I trust you,” Brendon said.

Ryan inhaled sharply at the tightness in his chest. Brendon didn’t noticed, toeing for a dry spot to sit down in the cold, frosty lawn.

Once they were comfortable, Ryan procured the glass piece. “Are you okay to smoke again? This is a bowl. You pack the weed in here, and hold your finger here at this hole while you light it and breathe in. Watch me.”

Brendon uneasily handled the piece afterward and mistakenly burned his thumb.

Ryan leaned toward him. “I’ll light it for you.”

“Okay.”

Brendon’s full lips formed an O around the piece. Ryan’s breath caught and he quickly looked down to turn the light sideways. The bud caught smoothly, glinting orange.

Brendon tore away from him, choking on the smoke.

“Don’t move your hand!” Ryan dove to swipe the piece and save the rest of the hit. “Sorry,” he said after exhaling, “I didn’t mean for it to be that big.” He set the piece atop the makeup case. “I’ll get something to drink.”

He retrieved several bottles of Kool-aid from the fridge, holding them between his thin fingers as if they were the necks of glass beer bottles.

“Is this okay?” Brendon asked once Ryan returned and he was able to chug half a bottle.

“I basically live here,” Ryan said, twisting his own Kool-aid open. “It’s no big deal.”

“Oh.”

Ryan opened the makeup case. “I should do your makeup before I get too high.”

Brendon’s skin felt electric against the side of Ryan’s palm as he covered his eyelids in blue—to match the night sky, or the Kool-aid, or something even stupider. When Ryan pushed Brendon’s bangs back to apply eyeliner, he laughed.

“Is that why you have your hair like this? Your forehead’s huge, man.”

“Shut up, asshole.”

Ryan smiled. “Keep your eyes closed.”

Brendon complied, and Ryan finished his makeup.

“How do I look?” he asked.

His thick dark bangs gracefully fell to the blue makeup, large doe eyes sharpened by the liner, mouth pink from hesitantly biting on his lip.

“You look nice,” Ryan murmured. “Really nice.”

Ryan cleaned up, and they finished the bowl, drinking the rest of the Kool-aid in the meantime.

“I’ve never been this thirsty in my life,” Brendon said.

Ryan laughed. He set his hand on Brendon’s knee, moved by an invisible force. “Are you okay?” He worried the bowl was too harsh.

Brendon grinned. “I’m fine. I mean, maybe I wouldn’t be. But you’re here, so I’m okay. It’s okay.”

“Is this okay?” Ryan’s hand slid up the inside of Brendon’s thigh.

“Ryan—” Brendon’s throat bobbed, and Ryan stopped. “I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?” Ryan asked. Had he guessed wrong? Was Brendon some backwards, metrosexual version of straight? “Dude, I’m so sorry, holy shit—”

“No, it’s not—I’m transgender.”

“Oh.” Ryan shoulders sank. “Oh,” he said again.

“Is that okay? Is that a problem?” Brendon’s voice tightened with fear and defensive anger.

“No, it’s fine. I’m...” Ryan swallowed. “Me too.”

Brendon gasped. “Oh.”

“Is that okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. Ryan... I’m really high.”

Ryan set his hands on Brendon’s thighs. “I know. I am too. Do you want to stop?”

“We just met, like, today.”

“It’s pretty weird.”

“I moved,” Brendon said. “My parents disowned me. I dropped out.”

“Oh my God.” Ryan’s hands tightened. “Can I kiss you? Your mouth is huge.”

“Proportional to my forehead?” Brendon inquired.

Ryan snorted. “Sure, asshole.”

Brendon’s warm lips dwarfed Ryan’s in a chaste kiss. They stared at each other for a moment before leaning back in. Brendon splayed his hands against Ryan’s upper chest.

“We need to go back inside,” Ryan muttered.

“In a second,” Brendon protested.

“Yeah,” Ryan assented, “okay. Okay.”


End file.
